


Captains

by backfourteen



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Adam is a French Connection model, CSGB, He's just on the telly, I swear to god Jamie Vardy is not a part of the activities, Liverpool, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Teasing, much teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backfourteen/pseuds/backfourteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jordan and Adam had only messed around a few times previously, but nothing more than quick snogs in cars or locker rooms or away hotel rooms. Jordan had initiated all these, and done a lot of shoving of bodies and tongues. But Adam invited Jordan over after training and didn’t expect to immediately be wedged between his own counter and Captain Hendo before they had even eaten lunch or watched a match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captains

**Author's Note:**

> Lallenderson is real.
> 
> (Welcome back to the squad, Hendo!)

Jordan has been in charge at Liverpool for some time now and has settled into running things with the squad. He's getting used to his new role. Even in times of injury, Jordan is a steady presence, spending half his time standing beside Klopp and the coaches on the practice pitch and half his time with the physios. Jordan captains plenty of footballers who are older than him. But he always forgets Adam is one of them. 

Because Adam does not talk back at training or ever slow down during laps or have a single line of age on his face. Adam is agreeable and excitable and self-confident in a way that not even Under-18s could compete with. But Adam is 27. Jordan is 25. Jordan forgets that. Jordan forgets that Adam isn’t his protégé or his young teammate to teach. Ultimately, Adam isn't his to order around. 

Jordan and Adam had only messed around a few times previously, but nothing more than quick snogs in cars or locker rooms or away hotel rooms. Jordan had initiated all these, and done a lot of shoving of bodies and tongues. But Adam invited Jordan over after training and didn’t expect to immediately be wedged between his own counter and Captain Hendo before they had even eaten lunch or watched a match. 

“Quit shoving me around in my own house, Jord.”

Adam groans with a breathless laugh and nudges Jordan off, who is already shirtless, flushed, worked up. It's a lot for Adam to take in. Jordan is milky and stretched out under all those clothes, tall and leggy as you like, track pants mounted rather high on his waist. After a still moment, Adam motions for Jordan to come to him and Adam puts his hands on Jordan’s chest, moving them patiently across the freckly white skin as Jordan’s blush spreads under Adam’s hands. Over the tautness of his upper back, the sinews of his neck, his solid shoulders, and into the short hairs at the base of Jordan’s head, agonizingly thorough. Jordan wraps his hands around Adam’s biceps as Adam leans up to kiss him, but he just leans his forehead on Jordan’s and grins. 

“Captain complex, that is. Always have to be running things.”

“And what do you know about that anymore?”

Adam pulls away with the same cheeky grin on his face as Jordan moves forward to kiss him. 

“Plenty, thanks. Don't forget I was a captain before you ever were.”

“Couldn't if I tried.”

Adam unzips his track jacket and makes quite a show of slipping out of his top, garnering a frustrated laugh from Jordan. 

“What’d you think? Of me back at Southampton, I mean. Fucking boss, wasn't I.”

Adam rejoins Jordan in the middle of the kitchen, skirting fingers going to the waistband of Jordan's track pants. Jordan hisses at the contact of Adam’s chilly hands with his stomach and Adam smiles. 

“Go on, tell me, Jord.”

“You were so fucking fit – you are still, but. I remember you from the first time we played you. God. And when we'd be together on international. Gone on you then, I think.”

Adam nods, backing Jordan into his refrigerator and bracing his hands on either side of Jordan, driving his hips into Jordan hard. Jordan whines and Adam ears ring with it. He places a strong hand down on Jordan’s chest to keep him back against the fridge and the other hand deftly undoes Jordan’s track pants. Adam pushes them down. _Great thighs, just bloody great thighs_ , Adam thinks and files that image away for later. Jordan gets chatty again but laughs, nervy. 

“I had these - don't _laugh_ \- pictures of you and I'd wank off to them. From a magazine. _Esquire_ or some shite. Didn't know you were such a fucking tart.”

Adam is learning a lot more than he expected to. His mental image suddenly shifts to Jordan searching him on Google with one hand and jerking off with the other, and Adam has to pause for a second to breathe before he quips back. 

"Tart? More like a model, mate. Glad you chose those pictures though. Absolutely banging." 

He palms Jordan over his underwear, firm hand on his chest still keeping Jordan's back against the fridge. Jordan squirms and whimpers and Adam is sure he has never seen Jordan this hungry or riled up before. 

“Remember the first time we did this?”

Adam puts his knee between Jordan’s legs and watches Jordan impatiently rub himself off on his thigh, which Adam expects but also isn’t prepared for. Adam chokes on his own saliva. 

“I do. You were just as bloody eager as you are now.”

Jordan is plenty hard now, and so is Adam, he’ll admit, even though Jordan hasn’t touched him once. 

“At that hotel for an away match. The away match against…I don’t, shit, I can't remember who –” 

“Right. You dragged me into our room and shoved me into the back of the door. I was concussed, pretty sure.”

Jordan escapes from Adam’s restraint and drops to the floor, knees hitting the tile with a thud and Jordan’s hands going straight for Adam’s fly. Adam pulls on Jordan’s hair roughly and forces him to look up, the bright kitchen lights over them putting Adam’s face in shadow.

“Get up, Jordan.”

Jordan stares up at Adam challengingly, but Adam pulls on the hair on the back of Jordan's head again, hard, forcing him to his feet. Jordan is breathing hard and Adam is enjoying this far too much, Jordan wound up in a way no one else gets to see. 

Jordan reaches back and yanks Adam’s hand out of his hair, holding Adam’s wrist tightly in his hand and Adam struggles against it. 

“If we’re doing this, I’m in charge this time, Jord.”

"Well, we're not doing anything at all right now."

Jordan smiles wide, his teeth gritting and his fingernails digging into Adam's wrist as he tugs him into the living room. 

 

 

There's not a lot of difference between their relationship on and off the pitch. Jordan has always been so wildly complimentary of Adam in public and to the press. He's the same way on Adam's couch, Adam straddling him, both way past the point of clothes. 

"You're just. This is. Fucking brilliant. Never thought I'd see you like this, Ads."

Adam laughs and gets a firm hand around Jordan, relishing the feeling of Jordan's rumbly low hum of contentment and his full-body jerk. 

"If I'm that good of a shag, why are we on your couch and not in your bed? You're a poor host."

Jordan can only manage a sharp exhale in response as Adam speeds up his hand, watching Jordan intently but getting nothing. Nothing but these throaty moans that Adam hopes to store in all areas of his mind. But Jordan's not talking.

"Is that all I have to do to shut you up? Stroke your cock off?"

Jordan manages to shakily hoist himself up on his elbows to look pointedly at a grinning Adam, and Adam leans down to kiss him and wipe the hair off Jordan's forehead. On a particularly tight stroke Jordan reaches out desperately to brace himself onto the table beside the couch and claws blindly at Adam's chest with the other hand. 

"You close? Come on. I know you like this, me on top of you."

Jordan nods and reaches around Adam's neck to hold himself up and holds their faces close together, Jordan kissing messily into Adam's mouth and biting down hard. Adam licks his sore lip and smiles to himself as Jordan comes, making sure Jordan is watching when Adam cleans of his hand with his tongue. Jordan slumps against Adam, absolutely knackered, his temple against Adam's shoulder and his sweaty hair brushing Adam's neck. Jordan turns and presses his lips to Adam's shoulder, hoisting himself up and gathering his clothes from the floor beside the couch and the kitchen. 

"Off to shower. Going to join me?"

Jordan makes a jerking off motion as he heads toward the bathroom and Adam's up like a shot, right behind him. 

 

 

"This is okay, right? This is good?"

Jordan removes his mouth from Adam's neck and looks at him, eyes narrowed. Water from the shower head drops into Jordan's eyes. 

"I mean, have you ever thought, 'I'm the captain of Liverpool, Jordan Henderson, and I've got my older teammates' cock in my hand in the shower. This is weird.' I dunno. Something like that."

"No. Never weird. Never bad. Interesting. I like it. Like you."

Adam rests his forehead on Jordan's shoulder as Jordan digs his fingers into Adam's hip, Jordan's other hand slowly bringing Adam off, slick with water. 

"You're okay with this?"

Jordan sounds concerned and Adam nods into his neck. 

"Oh yeah. Honest, I fucking love it. Maybe I'll start wanking to pictures of you. Ever been in a mag, Jord?"

Jordan laughs aloud, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of Adam's head and rake through his sopping hair. Adam hums in response, pleased.

"I have. Nothing like you, though. Tart."

"You'll have to send me those links. Ah, come on Jordan, I'm close." 

Jordan does what he's told and Adam falls heavily into Jordan, both of them laughing as Adam finishes. 

 

 

They both collapse back onto the couch in their club track suits, comfortably close together. Jordan fingers through Adam's wet hair and Adam does the same, rubbing Jordan's knee affectionately before flipping on the telly to the Leicester/United match. Jordan stretches into Adam a bit more and everything feels so warm. 

"You ever met Jamie Vardy, Ads?"

"Maybe once. Dunno, actually. He's a normal lad. Chav though, innit he."

"He's class. About to break van Nistelrooy's record. Most consecutive matches scored in. Both've got ten."

"I'll suck him off if Leicester take United. 1-0 Leicester, with the goal from Vardy."

"You going to make me back the Mancs?"

"You think I'd really suck off Jamie Vardy?"

Leicester go up 1-0 and Jordan is giggling, but United equalize and the match ends 1-1. 

"He did break the record, though, Jord. Vardy still earns a good wank from me." 

"So what did I do to earn your 'good wank'?"

Adam elbows him in the ribs. 

"Good wank? Just good?"

But Adam's self-confident grin never falters.

"And you say I've got a captain complex, Ads." 

"We both have."

Adam wraps an arm around Jordan and settles into him. 

"But I'm older. And I was a captain before you were."

**Author's Note:**

> Lallenderson is real.


End file.
